


BANNED! On Homeworld

by gimmeshellder



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Group Sex, Large Insertion, Masturbation, Not OUR pearl but A pearl...u kno, Oral Sex, PWP, Reference to sexual violence, Size Kink, a splash of bodice ripping, a variety of gentials, grindhouse style Quartzploitation cinema, most pearl baggage applies tbh, pearls loving pearls, teefs, this horny pearl finds 40 dumbass jocks in space. what happens next will warm your heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmeshellder/pseuds/gimmeshellder
Summary: Pearls found acting out of decorum are met with severe consequences... prooobably.





	1. part the first

**Author's Note:**

> sorry guys I know it's been 3 years, i was in the shower
> 
> For optimal effect you have to envision this fic's title in big, blobby, dramatic scare text like a pulpy 70's movie poster, with a tiny but gutsy pearl struggling to hold a burly swooning quartz in her arms, and also there's a semicircle of 40 other quartzes in various stages of smitten debauchery directed by lesbian Wes Craven

 

Pearl is told to wait and she does, with just a slight tremble. It’s taking longer than normal. There are only a handful of gems in the distribution landing this time around, but one would think otherwise. The calcite is different this time: longer, quieter, stress lines in her face criss-crossed like a utility grate. She’s harried as she scrolls through her mobile display, entering info and deleting it in equal measure.

Despite the cold ingot of dread in her belly, Pearl manages to find irritation too.

A flicker to the right locks her eyes with another pearl. Familiar face. Tidy circinus braids along her scalp, lovely dark features. They’ve never spoken, however.  If she’s feeling impatient as well, she doesn’t let on. At least not so Pearl can tell.

(She likely hasn’t been in distribution often enough to know better.)

“You.” Both of them jump. The calcite peers up from her display to an alcove further down the corridor, out of Pearl’s view. “Come along. The rubies, too.”

The rubies bustle out first. Surly and refusing to look at one another. Infighting, if Pearl had to guess. She will give them a wealth of space. Even if the exercise is meant to recondition cooperation, there’s never promise of instant success.

The two of them file in, and when the last gem follows suit they catch eyes and this time Pearl _does_ tremble. Guilt and recognition swirl. Pearl not only knows her and her high set brows and slice of white along the cheek: she one of the many, many reasons Pearl is here.

“Reporting,” she says, pivoting careful on her heel. “18-CH99-L.”

“Which?” The calcite scrolls, searching.

“... CH99.”

They hadn’t been caught together. No. Even though Pearl had spent more time with her than any of the others. Nearly a whole day, at one point: wrapped up warm in her tourmaline’s chambers, giddy with mischief, riddled pink with sweet soreness. Pearl’s throat catches. The younger pearl had spent so much of their time together half-hiding an impish little smile against skin (shoulder, neck, hips, thighs), so coy yet so eager, so quick to learn, that Pearl took to calling her Chipper.

The memory brings a precious spot of pleasure to her now. A welcome, but short-lived speckle of warmth to the dread in her belly.

Pearl sifts through a breath she doesn’t need.  She can’t even bring herself to fret over what line Chipper might have crossed. So long as she doesn’t cross it too much.

“Let’s, uhhhh….” The calcite takes a lumbering step to the nearest corridor. “Yeah. Yes.” They’re to begin in the westernmost sector, it seems. If they follow the most logical path around (Pearl squints, dredging her memory)... one of the very last stops will be the quartz outpost.

Oh, stars. There it is. Her eyes squeeze closed one moment. The word she’s been avoiding. But she collects herself, and they open again.

She’s seen them only once. Close enough to _see,_ at least. Her tourmaline had stopped to observe a training display in anticipation of deployment in one of the arenas around the cenote cusp. That’s what she had called it -- a “training display.” Enormous, vengeful, walking weapons with a love only for violence. They weren’t even fighting an _enemy._  Guttural sounds, _roars,_ dizzying as a ship shot down on the wing. The ripples of impact (Pearl can still feel them echoing through her form, leaving her rigid with the buzzing) the indelible sight of a jasper reaching _into a chalcedony’s throat -- twisting her gem -- leaving her to dissipate --_ and then holding her horrid prize aloft with a cry like a tearing steel. Memory alone was enough to brittle Pearl around the gem in her belly.

And. And that. Is her destination.

The quartzes.

The ingot of dread is its own small fortune, now. Pearl sifts through another breath, just for something to occupy.

“Rubies for ensuant orders,” Calcite mumbles to an envoy recipient, snapping Pearl awake. They have already left circinus braids. Pearl hopes well for her. She risks a glance at Chipper and sees her eyes wrung sharp with worry. But the calcite is already turning her attention back, and the two must break the contact. 

Likely, Chipper will be dropped off first. That’s a comfort. Likely she won’t have to see Pearl -- where Pearl --

“Fuck’s sake,” the calcite grumbles over her display. Pearl figured she must have forgotten someone. Maybe several someones. Even on its lightest day, distribution has more gems than fingers on a hand. The battle on calcite’s face is a short one. “CH-99 --” Chipper straightens, “-- finish the envoy.”

Oh. 

Well.

Calcite cuts a mallet-fisted glance at the ceiling for any observation.  “It’s on the way for you. Transmit back to me once you’re in the engineering bay.”

With a few flickers over the display, Chipper’s head recoils just a mite with the incoming data. Her eyes glow faintly. She’s a newer generation, convenient for this exact kind of shirking, and now in possession of the exact data that Pearl wanted to keep from her. Probably more.

The two hardly break stride as  they continue further down. The incompetent calcite is still visible over the shoulder, agonizing over her display among many other things.

They turn. They turn again. And then, they are alone.

Pearl watches her measured steps tap against the tile a little longer than necessary. She looks up at last, just as they pass an enormous window revealing a loading dock. A good distraction if needed. She scarcely turns her chin, smile frail. “Hello, Chipper.”

It’s too observed a section of the structure to do much. But Chipper’s hand finds Pearl’s across the distance between them. She squeezes once, hard.

“Oh, now,” Pearl whispers. Squeezes back. It steadies her, for some reason. Seeing the younger pearl distressed. “No tears.”

“I can hide you,” Chipper whispers back in a rush, lips barely moving, and Pearl’s nerves frost over.

She hesitates. The shadow of a cargo ship passes over them. “Where?” 

“In the engineering bay.” Chipper’s eyes, soft Canopus-gold, harden behind their mistiness. “One of the spinels. She has a solo shift until tomorrow -- she can cover for you there.”

Pearl works very carefully to keep her feet moving. It would be far from the first time she’s been a part of quiet things. But those are for that can slip between the cracks. Reprieves. Trysts. Little baubles, like the pile of trinkets secreted away in a hidden pocket of her tourmaline’s chambers.  

She tries to conjure the picture of safety. But all that crawls into her mind’s eye is her agate, towering terrible over her and a first-time offender, still tangled in each other in some thought-safe corner.  

Her agate had smiled acidly. Had called Pearl her “little recidivist.” Had told her not to worry, that she would find Pearl a... a "proper outlet."  

“Can’t.” It comes as a rasp.

“ _Can_ ,” Chipper hisses, “We can, I can fetch you again next shift. She won’t know!”

“She will know.”

Agate made that hatefully clear.

Chipper seems keen to fire back, chin jutting, but stops short -- almost physically pulls back a pace -- at the threshold of the shuttle to the outpost.  This one has no clear glass to gaze through, as Pearl has seen in before. Instead it’s ribbed with full-length murals of of the Diamonds in various stages of conquest. The top of each is lined with gems. No fewer than eight pairs of eyes cut the conversation and follow them as they step into the shuttle.

The doors hiss gently. The floor rocks as they set into motion.

The two of them fold into the microexpressive mode of pearls left standing inert for days at a time, side-by-side, with passing gems none the wiser of their discussion. Chipper part-duels, part-pleads with Pearl from across the way.

Pearl steers her chin, left-right, just a millimeter. _Too risky._

Chipper’s glare flickers to the floor and back. Then jab towards the door. _We’re going._

Pearl gazes blandly. She draws her chin and shoulders inward by a sliver. _It’s my trouble._

Shewon’t let it multiply.

There’s a chime as Pearl’s eyes drift away, disengaging. Dull terror comes crawling back. Oh, stars. How close are they? She searches the panel above the exit for some indication, some marker of their progress across the way, and her chest wrenches hot and awful when her periphery catches Chipper tearing up again.

_“Quartz outpost 03-98. Clearance required.”_

Chipper’s throat bobs as she swallows. Her eyes brim hot, and she turns to give Pearl one last crushing look before relaying the signal from calcite into the receiver.

“ _Clearance granted.”_

The pneumatics hiss. Before the doors open more than a crack, Pearl gives a soft wheeze at Chipper’s sudden embrace. It is shaking, and angry, and wonderful. And it lasts one porcelain moment before it must end again. Chipper swipes a hand over her face as she brushes past Pearl onto the outpost platform. Grief hangs after her like a chemtrail. And Pearl must follow.

The outpost has one of the smallest terminals in recent memory. Stationed at the intake is a solitary beryl: brilliantly green and squat, with jaw like an overstuffed filing cabinet.  Pearl peers up at her as she peers down at them both.

“We don’t use pearls.” The beryl’s frown tips sideways. “How did you get in here?”

Chipper sticks her chin out. She’s regained her composure. “Pearl 02-SG03. For ensuant o-orders.” Ah; just a little shaky.

She can’t bear to look at Chipper. Instead she watches the frown deepen on the beryl’s face as she scrolls through whatever data she’s received from the shuttle.

“Oh. I guess so.” Boredom washes in again. Her hand comes up in a _shoo-_ ing movement all too familiar. “Well, go on then... _Uhhh. Not_ you.”

Pearl stops after just a couple paces, and half-turns; Chipper tried to follow.

Stars. Can’t she just leave? Pearl’s eyes heat. But she can’t let her see.

Chipper starts, “But I --”

“Here’s a pod now. Transmission’s been sent back with your uhhhhhh... calcite. ” The beryl clears her throat loudly. Then waves at Chipper to board.

She doesn’t. 

“Transmission’s sent. We’re all set here.” It takes another wave, more impatient now, to get her to feet to drag a leaden retreat into the shuttle. Beryl doesn’t even seem interested enough to be annoyed.  

Pearl doesn’t turn to watch the doors close. She can’t let Chipper see. Pearl can feel her eyes, hard and bright and eager, begging her to turn around once more. To look at her. Those eyes went soft as goldleaf when she nuzzled Pearl’s palm. When she pressed kisses in tender places in the low light of the engineering bay. Little secrets. Precious things.

How many secret were between them, now? How many had Pearl forgotten already?

Moments pass like that. Remembering. Steadying herself. 

“Hey. Uh, problem?”

Pearl snaps upright again. She shakes her head.

“Right. Well, get going.” The beryl squints at her sideways. “You’re weirding me out.”

The display chirrs back to life as the gem turns away. Pearl’s lips twitch, despite herself. The beryl must be unused to having things to ignore. Pearls are much better at it.

But here? Now? Trudging herself to the door of their quarters? Funneling herself down a corridor, to some great evil mouth? Pearl can think only of the noises they made. Vast, and corrosive, and dizzying. _“Training display.”_

She can think only of their hands. Large enough to close around her thigh. Maybe her waist. She stands no chance. Two or three who took to the same idea would pull her to pieces, snarling, before they’d even begun fucking her.

Oh. Her knees want to give.

How long? How many times would she have to reform? If she even could. She may be shattered in the crossfire as they gutted one another.

 _No._ No.

She takes a long moment, there. In front of the doors. Steadying. Pearl reaches in herself again, away from observation. For some spot of warmth, some scrap of comfort.

The tender grain of hair against her lips and nose as she kissed Fuller’s nape, cool with sweat, curled up from behind. Quartet’s laugh against her chest, still stung hot with kisses. The welcome weight of Spoke’s fingers in hers, soft as water -- a cautious ‘yes’ to their private waltz in the boiler room. Macadam’s cutlass wink from clear across the court.

Chipper’s hug: brief, and desperate, and longing.

If nothing else. If nothing else, Pearl wants to see them all again.

So: she stands. And the doors part.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The scent is first. Heavy as ore, and as easy to move through. Pearl tries and fails to squeeze her eyes closed. Numb habit alone is what tugs her to motion. Her legs straighten and fold like old machinery as the doors slide home again with a pneumatic wheeze.

Second is the quartzes. Of course. Groups of five or six huddle in loose circles or clumps around the chamber. At least one headlock and an armwrestling match are on. Others are napping, bickering, deep in preoccupation.

No one even notices her.  

(Pearl would laugh, if she could.)

She takes it in. The barracks, same as the outpost, feels like a structure from too long ago: minimal communal items in the center, with bare living compartments along the walls in various states of use. To Pearl’s eye, the tech in here was already outdated last era.

“Pearl 02-SG03,” screeches an ancient callbox somewhere by her right, and Pearl is too petrified to even jump. “For ensuant orders.”

Oh, stars. 

An amethyst with arms like hunks of mining debris turns from the closest throng. A particularly rowdy group. They’re gambling. Her jaw is pulled up in a grin, wide enough to show molars, and her hand reaches halfway across the circle to accept something when she locks eyes with Pearl.

She freezes.

Pearl... well. Pearl’s already frozen. She can’t freeze _more._ But fresh terror twists like a fist in her belly as she waits, watching the grin fade.

“Holy shit.” Eyes welded to Pearl’s, the amethyst claps the back of her open hand against a jasper’s chest. “Go get Cap.”

Pearl might retreat to her gem now. From this alone. She can’t look away from those eyes. Brown-and-red-and-brown and deadly, like things made in a forge.

How many? How many things, how many  _beings_  had seen those eyes? As the _last_ thing they had seen?

Last era had found Pearl in an observation dock, attending her tourmaline attending her guests. And hadn’t they enjoyed quite the curiosity: an alien vessel, floating into view from raw space. It had held up poorly there. Fuel from its rockets had leaked, somehow, and frozen lovely as a chandelier, curving like some marvelous frosted gown down its starboard side -- everything inside long dead, of course.

This was the feeling. Precisely that feeling. It must be. Drifting lonely as the moon, damned and helpless with frost. 

“Is that a _pearl?_ ” drifts in clumsy from the other side of the chamber. The drone of milling and talk goes stiff. It cuts by half. And by half again.

Heads turn. Half a dozen, a dozen. A score. Pearl quickly loses count. There’s more than she can see without having to move her neck.

Stuck fast to the spot by the entrance, she conjures the only action within the realm of possibility: her arms come up in a shaking Diamond salute. She breaks her eyeline from the amethyst at last and watches the  floor in front of her. Just watch the floor. Scuffmarks and soil. Tile that might have been magenta once. Scratches hatch like tallymarks, like the lines on the calcite’s face.

She swallows.

Incredible that she can feel them come closer. Like a physical force. Two take the lead ahead of the pack (the gambling amethyst, and maybe an ametrine). They are hungry-eyed as they stalk closer. Even at twenty paces away Pearl can sense their size. Walls of creatures.

Her salute trembles.

“What are you _doing_ here?” scrapes behind her to the right, and Pearl yelps -- a cat’s eye had flanked her -- and stumbles over herself, trying to face her and -- ah -- yes, foolish, yes, now she’s surrounded. Not even a wall to her back. There must be ten around her in a lazy noose.

The cat’s eye glares down at her. Does she want an answer? 

“I-I,” gravity’s coming harder. It must be. Pearl swallows against it. “Please.”

The cat’s eye blinks once. And then again, eyes narrowing. Pearl can’t read her expression. She just looks angry.

All of them, they... they look angry. 

Whatever reluctance that slowed the throng of them has worn off. One quartz, towering, steps closer. And Pearl makes a bleary half-turn to face her. She almost wants to look up (up, up) just to see how far she measures against this creature but her neck seems to have locked in place. She can only watch the battle-skinned boots step closer. She can only watch others join.

“That’s a fucking pearl, dude.”

The crowd jostles for position. Scuffles. Swears. Pausing like a deep inhale. What are they waiting for? Her eyes are hot. The lull stretches like a torture device before another mutter runs through them --  

How many of them? Stars above, how many?

 _Any moment._ Pearl pinches her lip in her teeth. Any moment now and they’ll -- they --

She hears “Hey,” from her left, just as she’s grabbed at the elbow, and her knees give out at last, eyes screwed shut.

But the hold at her arm doesn’t pull it out of socket. It doesn’t crush bone like gears in a machine.

It… well. It _holds._

“Uh,” says the voice on her left.

The pause presses. Pearl’s eyes open. She’s almost decided to look up when the ground shakes beneath them (boom _boom BOOM)_ and another quartz hurtles between them. Pearl’s free but the shock of impact rings through her form as a different quartz collides with the other, sending her crossways into another. They both bristle, snarl.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“What the fuck, Cap!”

“All back.” ‘Cap’ throws her arm wide. “All of you.  _Fuck off!”_

She is indistinguishable from the other quartzes, really. Not especially large or packed with mass. But the whole of them cut a wide berth at her bellow (Cap must mean _captain),_ and none protest when she reaches down for Pearl. Barely a flick of the quartz’s wrist and she’s back on her feet, reeling.

(Stars, the top of Pearl’s head comes to her -- her chest.)

“Hey. Come on.” The tone is neutral but urgent. “Get moving.” 

A nudge against her back has Pearl stumbling as directed. Away from the door, to the far side of the bunker. She moves as best as she possibly can, tremors and all. Stragglers on this side of the chamber step aside but stare.  They’re all staring, she’s sure. Pearl chances one last look over her shoulder and, yes -- all of their eyes follow. There must be at least thirty.

“Going where?” she finds herself asking.

A grunt: “My bunk.”

Ah. Oh.

The initial rush of fear has begun to clear, leaving behind calculation. And Pearl does. Calculates. With her brain back online beneath the fog of imminent death, she can appreciate what a stroke of fortune this particular circumstance is. Comparatively.

She can manage this. She has to. Her hand squeezes over air, where Chipper’s had been.

She’s never… not with a quartz... not with anyone but pearls, really. But she knows if she’s to survive the rest outside, she needs their leader’s favor.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Pearl wastes no time. She sinks again to her knees -- with purpose, now -- and reaches for the front of the captain’s uniform.

She can do this. She _will._

But she is not expecting a _squawk!_ and scrambled retreat.

“Hey! Whoa. _Whoooa._ Hang on.” The Captain nudges her head away with a fingertip. “Hang _way_ on.” The quartz seems to hesitate a moment. Pearl steals a glance at her expression but it doesn’t tell much.

“Take, uh.” Her huge hand waves to the center of the room. “Take a seat.”

Okay. Okay. Simple enough start. 

Pearl centers herself, and stands. A quick look around the space reveals only a cot with a miniature table near the foot, scarcely large enough for personal items. Pearl wavers. Surely taking her bed is too bold a move.

Cooperation wins out over inquiry. Nerving herself, she steps carefully and perches on the absolute edge of the cotside table. Not terrible. Not as cold as she expected.

The quartz eyes her from across the room -- _why?_ \-- before stumping over and slumping onto the cot with a sigh.

“Okay. Okay.” The captain furls a breath through her steepled fingers. “So. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I… I’m.” The profanity dries her mouth. She clears her throat. “My agate has arranged this.”

The captain stares. She nods theatrically, rolling her open hand. _Go onnnn…_

“Ah.” News to them, apparently. “I… yes.” She straightens and again, clears her throat. “I’m. I’m to…” Spit it out! “... to tend to the quartzes here any way they see fit.”

The Captain stares. 

Pearl takes a moment. The act of breathing can be soothing. She takes the time now to do it.

“ _Any way…_ ” She pulls her eyebrows high. “... they _see fit._ ”

The quartz, already squinting, quirks an eyebrow.

Stars. She clears her throat again, and finishes quietly, “As punishment.”

“Holy shit.”

It’s the captain’s realization, not her mouth, that has Pearl blushing. A silence follows. Pearl doesn’t like that. Moments pass before she chances a look, and the captain’s face…

“What did you _do?_ ”

Is she _flushed?_ Pearl stares. She’s certainly a deeper purple, now.

“Like, what -- did you kill your owner?”

“What?!” Pearl barks, then scoffs “ _No!”_ and immediately regrets it. She softens her posture again. “I…”Slow breath. Bites her lip. “I… have a history.” Breath. Slow. “Of associating with other pearls.”

There. That’s it, then. All of it. With luck, she won’t need to elaborate. Pearl has self-incriminated plenty without actually saying a word. But she draws a heavy line at incriminating others. Less likely that that would come about with a quartz than an agate, but nonetheless… she’s resolved on this. Yes.

She feels her shoulders square with it. Yes. Pearl’s eyes open again, prepared to plead ignorance.

But she’s met only with the captain’s curious stare. Her _patient_ curious stare. She’s still… waiting.

_Stars._

Pearl has to resist an eyeroll. Does she really need to spell this out?

Delicately, she leans closer. She pulls her eyebrows high again. “Associating… inappropriately.”

The captain’s eyes widen as she leans in. Their knees nearly brush. “You were fucking other pearls?”

“ _O-of course not!_ ”

… well.

“... well.”

_Well._

Pearl allows herself a small smile. The kind only a pearl would see. She clears her throat. “It’s not quite… we don’t, ah... “

Hm. She tries again. “We can’t…. Do that. Technically speaking.” She bites her lip. “... but, we can do things that feel very nice.”

There’s a degree of discreet contact that most pearls can go about, undetected. And they do. And Pearl enjoys it. Pearl just finds herself wanting _more_. And with great frequency. She can’t imagine... not. The early, velvet hours after her formation were spent immobile behind glass, still developing, and knotted with incomprehensible longing for the warm-eyed pearl across the processing floor. That feeling became bearable the more she could share it with others -- touch -- hold -- make them feel her want.

But it wasn't meant to be. Wasn't allowed. Forbidden. What a terrible way to exist: made of want and denied its outlets. Pearl could never manage. Pulled to pieces with craving when what she craved was so near. Like a magnet denied its natural field.

Pearl bites her lip. Her hands smooth along her thighs, wringing nonexistent wrinkles from the fabric. “We can... touch. In different ways.”

It was Ochre who taught her kisses need not be limited to lips. Pearl had been electrified for weeks. She paid the favor forward to Chess and felt the delicious swelling in her chest when the older pearl _shouted,_ and again, (and again), a sound like she was wounded but no, only overfull with helpless joy. She had shouted herself raw and could only whisper in the hours after.

Pearl’s hand comes up to her own throat as though to keep herself quiet. Her eyes list closed. “We can bring each other pleasure in many ways.” She’s gone a bit breathy; she slows herself. Wets her lips. Her hand moves from her throat to her cheek as though to shield. “And... I did. I... I broke so many rules…”

And worth it. Worth it. Worth every icy railing digging dull into her back, and each errant nail and hair pulled too hard, every scrape and scratch and ungiving floor beneath them. Each hurried retreat and breathless silence, evading eyes, waiting for the danger to clear.

All of them. Worth it. Worth even this punishment.  

Pearl would do it again, and again. It was all that felt right, that closeness. She would always. Again and again. And damn whatever consequences.

It felt so good. Like a magnet in its field.

The same resolve that squared Pearl’s shoulders now firms her jaw. Her teeth clench, bracing.

She gathers herself. She looks up.

The captain’s erection is clear as a signal flare through the front of her uniform. Pearl chokes on nothing. And the sound of her is what seems to shake the quartz from her stupor: her jaw snaps shut, and she fumbles her legs crossed, a gesture both belated and completely in vain.

“Oh… wow, that’s. Uh.” She clears her throat with a guttural _hock_ , and crosses her arms. As though that in any way conceals the obvious. “That’s pretty fucking wild, honestly. Uh.” She clears her throat again. The captain’s eyebrows pinch as she blows another slow, steadying breath through her lips.

If Pearl held any remaining doubt about the flush along the captain’s cheeks and neck, it’s long gone.

“Wow, yeah. So you… were getting frisky with other pearls. Your agate didn’t like it, and she sent you here… to… get even _more_ frisky?” Her brow furrows. “Like, intensely fucking frisky? We’re forty strong out there.”

Very fair point. “I think the idea is that I’ll have it --” brutalized? “-- scared out of me.”

“That’s dumb.” Captain’s monstrous hand is surprisingly delicate in scratching an itch near her eye. She glowers down at the floor. “To be honest with you.”

Strange. Pearl can almost feel the ache of a smile coming on. Not even one just for pearls. She answers, quiet, “I’m beginning to think so, too.”

Pearl’s relaxing. This quartz… it’s not like she expected. The captain isn’t scary at all, in fact.  

But she does have a full, lush erection in her lap, and in all honesty Pearl has never seen one up close.

Yes; Pearl notices. And the captain notices her noticing. She seems even more nervous than Pearl. It’s a nice sight.

Pearl smiles. A little shaky, maybe, but the captain smiles back.

(That’s a nice sight too.)

Pearl rises from her seat. Something very, very big happens as she does. She can’t place it. It’s as though the room itself takes a breath. Two slow, measured steps bring her closer. And though she just barely clears the top of the seated captain’s head, the difference afforded by standing feels much more vast.

Pearl feels herself tower. She feels the captain feel her tower.

Neither of them touch the quiet. That’s good. The part of her given to calculate can’t tell why, but Pearl can feel it. And she can feel it even more when she sinks to her knees before the captain.

Part of her thinks _ask to touch_. And that feels right… in a fashion. _Correct._ But something big and new wins out.

Instead, Pearl waits.

Moments pass like that: Pearl knelt between Captain’s thighs. The position is both identical to their entrance into the room and also its complete opposite.

“Uh.” Captain coughs. Sweat’s collected on the side of her temple.  “You look like... uhhh… Do you wanna?”

Pearl likes the sight. She keeps her face carefully clear of smiles, but rests her palms against Captain’s knees. Light as stardust. “Do _you_ ‘wanna’?” 

Captain actually laughs. It’s a little too loud, like the sound was jammed along the way and needed a good boot to get going. The cot puffs underneath her hand as she brings it down in a fidget. “Do I ‘wanna’? Seriously?” She laughs again and shakes her head. “I got a… fuckin’... _nympho pearl_ trying to go down on me. This is some shit I would’ve dreamt about in the barracks.”

That pleases Pearl somehow. But it’s not an answer yet. 

She waits. She lets her thumbs stroke idly. Underneath the quartz’s hands, the cloth of the cot bunches.

“I’m not an idiot,” Captain grumbles. Squirms.  “I’m not gonna stop you. But like. Shit.” She runs a hand along the side of her face and through her hair, smearing the sweat that’s jeweled along her cheek. Her head shakes like she’s clearing it and her voice deepens. “Let me be clear. I can just. Lock you in here until your agate fetches you, yeah? No one’s gonna fuck with you. I can promise that.” Her brow storms. “Unreasonable, what it is. Just dropping a distraction on us without warning… I got a hard enough trying to keep them focused...”

For a moment she lapses into brooding. But then her cinderblock chin shakes, left-right. “But listen, like. It’s whatever.” The hand skims through her hair again. A nervous habit. It even pauses to scratch the back of her head. “You don’t gotta do a damn thing. Get me?”

Maybe she doesn’t expect the intensity in Pearl’s eyes. Captain balks, just a mite.

Quiet settles again. Captain licks her lips. She doesn’t know that Pearl is running the calculations in her head.

"You don't need to do anything," Captain repeats.

Like little vices, Pearl’s hands close over the meat of her thighs. (They both jump.) “I think I need to see you.”

“Shit.” Captain laughs, watery. Sucks her bottom lip in her mouth for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Pearl pulls back. Just for a moment, enough to let the captain get comfortable, and tries not to sputter when the quartz phases out of her uniform altogether.

Captain catches something. She sounds rueful when she asks, “Too much?”

“Ah... no.” Pearl lifts a hand to shoo the idea. “It’s fine.”

“If you’re sure.” She posts back on her hands, watching.

Pearl tries not to stare but yeah she absolutely stares, just a little.  It’s a lot of gem, okay? Pearls don’t have muscles. Not muscles like _that._

She licks her lips. Tries to focus on the task at hand.

Pearl typically enjoys a bit of petting -- a good round of lead-up to touching -- but the novelty and faint urgency of the situation has her already trailing her fingertips along the shaft of the Captain’s cock. A slow sigh is her only answer at the contact. But Pearl watches closely as her touch firms.

The flesh is like any other part of quartz’s body. She is _thick,_ enough that Pearl’s fingers can hardly meet around the side. The skin along her fingers tingles. She makes a careful fist, and the quartz rumbles -- her hips bridge upward lazy into the touch. The muscles roll underneath the skin of her thighs and Pearl wets her lips.

She’s begun to sweat, too.

The captain’s chin and torso have levered back. She leans like she’s taking a long, deep drink. When Pearl slows the touches, eases the pressure, Captain’s chin tips forward again to watch her. Hazy eyes and restless mouth.  

It wouldn’t take much to crawl into her lap. Stars know Captain wouldn’t mind.

The thought of it -- of this _stretching her_ \-- heat catches quick as jet fuel in her belly and Pearl needs this  _in_ , right now, and Captain makes a confused tangle of moans when Pearl dips forward to take her in her mouth.

“ _Fuck,_ ” the swear hits thick as a bodyshot and Pearl shivers against it. The room is heating. Captain’s hips try to buck upward and Pearl moves with it -- just barely -- before pulling off of the flesh in her mouth with an irate grunt.

“Be still,” she chides, nails digging into the meat of the quartz’s thigh. Captain hardly minds. Chest heaving, she catches the sight of Pearl wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and again hisses a curse. Pearl’s tone is stern if breathy. “I can’t wrestle you down.”

The quartz tries to say something. Pearl doesn’t wait around for it.

She swallows her up as best she can, like that: covering with her hands what refuses to fit her mouth. It’s unfair. So unfair, that that’s all she can have. She wants the captain’s voice in her mouth, too: wants her scent of salt and distance: wants to sink her smooth little teeth into the shock and pleasure on her face.

“Hey, come on --” The captain’s thighs shift beneath Pearl’s chest. “I’m -- slow down, I’ll come too fast...”

There’s a prod at Pearl’s shoulder. It nearly dislodges her. She growls -- _growls_ \-- deep and brazen in her chest, and swats the wrist away. 

Slack-jawed, Captain stares, before the growing pressure and demanding heat drinks her head back once more. Her fingers rip the bedding from the corners of the cot as she moans to somewhere far overhead, “What kind of pearl _are_ you?”

She’s close and Pearl wants it, wants to _make_ it -- having a body like this under her -- the noises almost violent, the power underneath -- _hers_ \-- and when it comes Pearl moans around the thick flesh in her mouth, swallowing. All hers.

 _Breath! Breathing, again!_ Pearl has never needed as much air as she has today. The habit may be comorbid with quartzes.

She’s just wiped her mouth again when she’s hoisted underneath her arms and yanked _up._ It’s like she’s made of faberge. Her knees splay over the captain’s thick waist in a straddle and she freezes.

Panic threatens to poke through the comfortable haze as a massive arm closes around her. Not to crush, though; not to hurt. But it’s nonetheless awkward as her chin is pulled into a specimen of truly impressive cleavage. Pearl heats to the roots of her hair. Sweat’s collected here, too. In a slightly different universe Pearl might wet her lips.

The chest beneath her cheek rumbles, dark and smooth with contentment. (Pearl  _does_ wet her lips. If the Captain is bothered, she fails to mention.) The arm grips her tighter. There’s no discomfort in it, but still Pearl would like more space.

She hesitates. Then says, small but sure, “I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

“Oh... sorry.” The arm pulls away and the monstrous body beneath her tilts: Pearl is rolled onto the bed, curled on her side. It’s not quite careful. Still. There’s a gentleness. Then the Captain lies flat again, looking sheepish. The bed groans as she shifts herself around, still naked as can be.  Then her arms come back around herself in a loose embrace and she sighs, fullbody contentment.

_She was holding me._

Of all the jabbing feelings Pearl had expected to endure in the quartz barracks, guilt was not among them.

The lull is welcome as her favorite shawl. Buzzing. She feels a buzzing, starting from her gem and working out, all over. Muscle pulls beneath the cool-colored flesh in slowing breaths. Pearl watches. 

That’s not new. Pearl watches all the time. But in all her years, she has never been this close to a quartz. They’re held in esteem for a supposed rough-hewn handsomeness. Ogreish good looks. And the structure is there, yes: the broad bully jaw, prominent brow, sturdy nose. Soldiers designed to take a beating and keep going. But up close, Pearl can see a delicacy as well. The captain’s eyebrows are shaped as neat as comb tines. Little golden freckles lay scattered along her nose and cheeks, invisible at a distance.

“Hey. Really.” Captain’s watching her, too. If blearily. “What kind of pearl are you?”

The question is softer this time. But it feels no more worth answering.

Pearl’s eyebrow rises, starchy. Under the quickly evaporating deference, her snark chimes through. “Know a lot of pearls, do you?”

Captain flusters. Grumbles, too. But she drops it.

“Do you, uh...” Head clearing, the quartz glances down along Pearl’s body. The room is cooling, now. “You want anything?" 

Yes. Pearl wants.

“Sorry, I could always, uh…” She runs blunt fingers through her hair before studying them closely. “You know, I’m not bad at --”

“Are your troops like you?” Pearl demands. Hm. Not quite right. She tries again. “Are they… nice?”

It would have to do.

Captain blinks. “Well. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all decent.” Her lips quirk as she takes a look at her still very nude body. “We don’t got, uh. Pearl-type manners though.”

Pearl is almost amused. “What’s that mean?”

“You know.” A rasping sound. Though Pearl can’t see, Captain must be scratching some part of herself. “I’m the only one in here that’s been to court before. And that’s only twice. I’m just saying, I got some heads to knock, here and there.”

She feels her brow pinching. The captain says it so casually. The picture of them in the arena, tearing each other limb from limb. And the picture of them earlier, milling about, bickering, rowdy. Companionable.

They weren’t _comforting,_ exactly. But none of them hurt her.

Maybe Captain senses something. She adds, puffing a sweaty hair from her eyes, “Everyday thing for some of us. We’re made for it.”

‘Made for it.’ Something about the phrase makes her frown but she can’t pin down why. And the quartzes, content with… “Training displays.” Mystifying.

Her eyes close, thinking. The captain’s breathing deepens and the room cools and quiets.

After the crush of fear leading up to the ordeal, the sheer relief left her needing to recuperate.  Pearl must have dozed off. She finds herself curled on the cot alone. Cool and calm. But buzzing. She blinks. And without moving, mumbles to the room, “Take me outside." 

The Captain’s head pokes from around the corner. She’s at the washing basin, dressed again. She may have fallen asleep too. “Right now?”

The cloth of the cot sighs against Pearl’s legs as she sits upright. She smooths her hands along her thighs. Not for invisible wrinkles, though. It just feels good. “Make sure they’re nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Distribution is like gem parole, get in there too often and you get Noticed
> 
> Gem genitals???? pearlsex "not counting"???? Idk man I just work here
> 
> Personal headcanon that some gems have discreet (and discrete) nicknames for each other. Gems like pearls less likely to be in big groups at the same time might have unique names for one another, while bigger groups like quartzes have one that sticks.
> 
> Buckle up for the whole gang next chapter


	2. part the last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing this is approximately the same plot as the Breakfast Club

 

They don't crowd, this time. When the door to Captain’s quarters slides open it’s to a similar scene as earlier: clusters of quartzes along the walls, some lounging, trading gossip, laughing a din. It’s only when Pearl catches a “dozing” jasper following her every movement with one cracked eye that she puts it together: _quartz things._ Some unspoken agreement pervades the barracks to ignore them both, perhaps until told otherwise. 

Out of deference to their Captain? Or?

Pearl edges a look over her shoulder. Captain just shrugs, and nods. Like it’s expected. 

Interesting. It’s quite interesting, Pearl thinks, watching two quartzes compare biceps and pretend not to watch her drift further onto the open floor, because it’s not unlike what pearls must do. 

(Though pearls are much better at it.)

The escort is rather lax; Captain’s heavier steps come more and more slowly from behind. She’s being rather mellow about this. Pearl _is_ a distraction, after all. But perhaps the Captain has a distaste for hypocrisy.

She casts around the bunker, searching. Then finds the amethyst she first locked eyes with. Her elbows are braced on the shoulders of those next to her, watching two of her comrades grapple on the open floor. It’s a rather controlled spar, as far as Pearl can tell. And what a sight. Bits of debris stick to their skin. The buzzing around her gem makes itself known once more as she watches the muscles cinch and bunch in their arms, their backs -- hair stuck sweaty to their cheeks -- teeth bared around an invisible mouthful.

An equal share of cheers and groans fire up around the group of them -- the citrine won, it seems. 

The amethyst scrubs a hand down her face. When someone elbows her side, she pops her teeth irritably, and forces something into their open palm. It helps disguise Pearl’s approach.

Even when the rest of the gaggle turn to stare openly (the subdued carnelian on the floor traces her wholesale, from eyes to ankles, and it sends a fractal of tingles along her back), the amethyst fails to notice Pearl until she’s nearly in reach.

She’s a little smaller than her comrades. But Pearl still only comes up to her… sternum. There’s a swipe of gray discoloration, from cheek to chest. Pearl wonders if it’s as wide as her palm. She would like to test and see.

Conversation dampens. It’s quieter again, just like before, just as the realization set in. But unlike earlier not a single quartz moves.

Just Pearl. Just Pearl as she takes another step towards the amethyst, who fires a furtive glance, probably at Captain. 

Then back to Pearl.

They’re so _big._ The oppressive presence of them nearly hobbled Pearl before, and they would hobble her now if not for the wariness in the amethyst’s eyes. 

Pearl likes it. 

“You were smiling when I arrived,” Pearl says. 

Silence. The amethyst stares. A boot scuffs, across the room.

“Uh,” she says.

Pearl steps closer. The quartzes, except for the amethyst, step back. Pearl’s voice softens. “It was a nice smile.”

“Cap? What the fuck’s up?” the amethyst half-laughs. There’s a lovely blue undertone to her lips, this close.

“Relax,” grunts Captain. “She wants to make friends.”

Pearl’s close enough to take her by the belt buckle. Her chin drinks back, back, watching the amethyst watch her. She holds up her palm. “Hold out your hand.”

The amethyst does. If a bit dumbly. Even long and lithe as her hand is, Pearl’s fingers only come to the middle knuckle on the amethyst’s. Just… enormous. Feels like she could crawl into it and hide.

Pearl titters, giddy. Her face is hot. Is it hot? Like her skin is stitched on too tight. When she looks back up, the amethyst’s got her mouth flat as a girder.

“Can I see it?”

The amethyst blinks. Her face might be a little darker. “Uh,” she says. “My dick?”

Pearl titters again. “Your _smile."_

Amethyst does: she smiles, tight and crooked, like a loose piece of shrapnel. It’s not the impish grin Pearl saw before but it’s still nice. Sort of… sweet. Nervous. 

Pearl likes when they’re a little nervous.

“Really good,” she finds herself murmuring. 

The amethyst swallows; shoots another look at her Captain. Pearl won’t have it.

“Don’t look at her.” Her lithe fingers hook along the quartz’s. They pull. “Look at me.”

Interesting. It’s quite interesting, Pearl thinks, tugging amethyst’s hand to her mouth to swipe a wet kiss along her index finger, because it’s not so different from drawing in Apogee with an ash-soft touch along her thigh, or coaxing Europa into the dark. Not so different from giving Carrow an approving little nudge on the back of her nape, pulling her closer.

But none of them growled, thick and underworld when she pulled their hands between her thighs; none of them were built fit to jam a doorway. They didn’t have slabs of muscle that seized in great piles, didn’t groan and bare their teeth like she was prying the gem from their flesh at the volley of her hips. None could cup her one-handed by the groin and lift her closer, have her feet leave the floor --

" _No_ ,” Pearl gasps, arms thrust out, “No, lie -- lie down.” 

Amethyst lets Pearl’s feet back to the floor but doesn’t move, otherwise. She blinks dimly. “What?”

“Lie… lie _down._ ” Her two small hands butting against Amethyst’s… breasts, fine, yes, her very generous bosom shouldn’t move the quartz one iota. But Amethyst grunts and stumbles half a step as though it’s a whap from an officer. 

She stares at Pearl, uncomprehending. Pearl’s chin rises. 

And she waits. 

What little she’s observed of them is enough to know their body language.

But amethyst is not yet convinced. Her face scrunches around her nose. “What for?”

Pearl takes a step closer. Chin still tall. She lets one hand inch the skirts higher on her thigh. Her other hand brackets her sex in a tender marquee as her hips tilt forward. “I want you to smile right here for me.”

“Holy shit,” someone mutters. Far-off, something thumps to the floor.

“Hey,” Captain’s voice drones through the shuffle of feet. “Keep back.”

It brings Pearl’s eyes around again. The incredible quartz pretending act has been dropped. Each and every one of them in the barracks has circled around, close but not _too_ close, jockeying for a decent view. Brows are bunched. Eyes flinty. Shoulders hunched like loaded weapons, geared to charge. 

Pearl sees, now. What had earlier read as anger and imminent violence was simply quartz focus. Quartzes rapt with attention. Filled with ardor, and prepared to act on a moment’s notice. 

And here they are: all focused on her. Watching. Poised. But even decades of brutalized discipline can’t conceal the hunger pouring off of them in waves. 

It riddles Pearl with little pulses.

“ _Lie down_ , I said.” Voice calmer, full. A little irate. It’s never taken her so many times.

Amethyst bangs her elbows falling to her backside. She’s propped, watching desperate as a felon as Pearl peels away her skirts… flats… leggings... leaving them littered careless behind her until she’s bare from the belly down (and my, the _hiss_ that leaves the crowd of them all, Pearl shivers to the root). Her hand on Amethyst’s shoulder should not be able to  push her broad back flat to the floor, but there she goes, and the amethyst looks up, up, _up._

Imagine. Imagine, this big destroyer of a creature, looking up at Pearl like that.  Against all physics and reason. 

_And yet._

Heat dollops her belly; static tickles her gem.

Pearl worries there’s no patience left in her. That she’s too excited -- waiting since the thrill in the Captain’s quarters -- and Amethyst’s eyes are drawing her in with her hunger and awe. Lips so _ripe_ and rich and pretty, a plump cobalt blue. Pearl licks her own as she steps closer.

“Be good,” Pearl says, thinking of Chipper’s mischief. Her little games and hard-nosed moments. Pearl would have to chide her but oh, it was like a kiss when she did, it was another little affection between them. A wave of comfort washes through her from the throat down, like a warm drink, remembering.

The amethyst is skeptical. But her pupils are large and dark, like starving  mouths, savoring the slight curves and soft skin. Her throat bobs. “And what’s in it for me?”

“Be good,” Pearl repeats, a little quieter, “and I’ll come right in your mouth.”

A great _whoooosh_ of air leaves someone to the right. 

Amethyst’s mouth hangs open an inch.

“Can they talk like that?” someone chokes. “Is that allowed?”

“ _What did she say?_ ”

Thud _._ “ _Shut the fuck up!_ ”

Scuffling, grousing. Pearl’s mouth flattens but she can ignore that. 

What she _can’t_ ignore is how _much_ of Amethyst there is to navigate: Amethyst’s thigh is thick around as four or five pearls, _at the waist_ , and a sharp wave of… _something_ slides along the front of Pearl, locking in pneumatically. It sits there. It shrinks the skin on her, tighter, and tighter, until she’s very near panting from the pressure. She steps carefully as she can alongside Amethyst’s chest (there’s so _much_ of her) until she has one bare foot on either side of the quartz’s head.

Pearl feels _tall._ Looking down like that. And it’s a new kind of lewd, positioning her feet just so to spread herself -- spread her vulva, a puffy-pretty green pastel, right before a -- a _brute_ , just in reach of violence-made-flesh. 

(She’s also standing on some of her hair. But if it bothers Amethyst, she fails to mention.)

And not just one. No -- no, _forty_ of them watching her. Watching her waiting.

It doesn’t take long. Hands, massive, built to claw through aircraft on the wing reach up to hook her at the hips --

\-- and Pearl bats them away.  “No.” 

Amethyst grunts. Her brow darkens. Reconsidering tactics.

Instead she flares her nostrils and breathes deep -- like she's trying to take Pearl in one long swallow -- and she begins to sit upright, tongue-first --

“ _No._ ”

\-- only to fall back, pressed flat by Pearl’s heel on her forehead. She gives a low growl that curves up into a whine at the view this new position affords her: long, creamy thigh, leading to lovely lazy hips, canting higher, and wider, fingers spreading slow along herself.

Pearl wets her lips. Imagine if she stood here, teasing herself, until she dripped all over Amethyst’s cheeks and chin. Oh, stars. A filthy little wave of delight scrapes inside her ribs and belly at the idea, and she gives into it.

Masturbation by herself is a silent, hurried affair more often than not. Furtive touches while she has a precious moment unsupervised. But here? Now? There is no need for the perfunctory. Pearl offers the soft, slick sounds of her pleasure to anyone who would like to hear. And goodness don’t they seem to. She takes in the faces of the quartzes around her: their shock, their disbelief and open lust. The chamber is silent as space except for Pearl's puffs of breath as she pets herself.

It’s when she allows herself a soft moan that the trouble begins.

There’s a chilling roar to the left -- some scuffling, curses, _BANG_ \-- a trio of quartzes break rank at Pearl’s moan, discipline giving way beneath temptation. They shove aside those in front with great violence, eyes blazing towards Pearl and Pearl _alone_ \--

“ _No!”_ and Pearl’s palm thrusts out towards them.

They freeze. Knocking into each other. One is doubled on all fours. The frontmost jasper’s lips twitch like she wants to snarl but they’ve stopped moving, at least. Still gobbling her up with their eyes. 

_Waiting._

The stir has broken the ranks on Pearl’s right, too, as other onlookers simply react to the new tension. Pearl’s other palm presses outward and they all snap still in their tracks.  “No.”

She’s panting. Palms raised. As though to press them back. To the left of her, the right. They watch like wild things. Some crouched, some on all fours. Fists clenching, loosing, clenching. Chests heaving. _Waiting._

Impossible. She would laugh if she could. A skinny little pearl, holding back a squadron of incensed quartzes. 

_And yet._

Pearl’s still breathless with her self-pleasure, and with the now softening dagger of fear in her chest. But she steadies her voice as best as she can. “You will stay back, unless I call you.”

It has a remarkable effect. The tension in the chamber cuts by half. Muscles loosen. Lips go lax, blanketing teeth. Some of them straighten their posture; some half-step backward. Some mumble to others to give more room. But they all keep watching.

 _Command._ The command in place calms them.

Pearl catches Captain’s eye from across the chamber. She looks entranced.

All of them watching. All of them waiting for her. 

Pearl feels a crush of arousal more sudden and intense than she knew was available to her. And when she looks down again at the poor Amethyst still underfoot, now starry-eyed with awe, there is in fact a trickle of excitement on her chin.

“Oh,” Pearl’s hand covers her mouth (fingers sticky), “oh, alright.”

She has never ridden a lover before. Not like this. Other pearls are too thin for more than gentle, too spindly for her enthusiasm. But here. This quartz. She’s _solid,_ she’s _massive_ , she can endure whatever Pearl wants to do to her.  

She’s almost _made_ for it. 

And going by the look on her face, she would like it. And when Pearl seats herself on those sumptuous lips it earns a whine of gratitude followed by hands swallowing up her waist and hot, _luscious_ mouth, oh, and then Pearl is crying out, losing track of everything.

Her mouth is so _big_ compared to a pearl’s, so much _softer_ and wider and lush and -- and _hotter_ \-- Pearl cries out -- her _tongue --_ it’s big and long enough to twist up inside -- sucking greedy like every part of Pearl is her favorite treat --

“Yes,” Pearl whimpers, nova delight licking like flame up her middle, up her chest, through her throat, “yes, yes, like that --”

 _Something_ combines in her, and a sharp paroxysm of pleasure has Pearl thrashing -- her knee collides with Amethyst’s temple as she cries out, trying to meet the sensation -- but the bigger gem only hums in a damning, beautiful way and rights Pearl again with one hand around her waist.

“Oh,” Pearl gasps, (she is _sweating,_ hair is clinging to her cheek, she locks eyes with a citrine that’s wiping her mouth as she watches) “again, do that --”

She actually _growls into Pearl_ and yes there it is, curling in her belly: release building a hot demand, reaching up to take Pearl by the gem and wring her out so tight and sweet and twitching-good onto Amethyst’s tongue. A strangled cry presses past her lips without permission but all she can do is give herself over to the feeling. Amethyst’s hair is so thick and luxurious, it can handle Pearl’s fingers -- yanking _hard_ as she rocks her hips against her mouth -- Pearl doubled over at the waist, shivers in her gem -- she can handle it --

Pearl _wails_ \-- little electric pulses still coming -- and oh, Amethyst laps up every bit -- still grinding hips downward in dizzy little commas of pleasure as climax softens... smooths... slows into quiet, dizzy bliss. 

Shivering. She’s slumped graceless over Amethyst’s face. But she seems not to mind. She lets Pearl recover. Both pulling in breath. 

So different from a pearl. But also not at all. She pants against Pearl’s belly just like any of them, only with breath much hotter. Bigger, rougher tongue when it flicks against the salt on her skin. When it licks gently at the gem on her belly. 

Pearl shivers, breathing a laugh. It’s almost comforting.

Some commotion to the side goes ignored. Pearl is listing so warm, runny all over. Oh, she’s an absolute mess. It’s lovely. Her fingers twist in the Amethyst’s hair for a handhold once more as she carefully pushes herself upright to find an utterly debauched quartz beaming up at her. She’s slick to the neck with Pearl’s come. Complete with a wide glossy grin, all the way to the molars.

 _There’s_ the smile she liked. Pearl finds herself smiling too. Small, but sincere. 

She wants to get up -- to straddle around that stocky waist, for whatever next delight -- but is fairly certain her knees will give way under her. She opens her mouth to order help -- 

\-- and _yelps_ as she’s made airborne, hooked under the arms and hoisted aloft 180 degrees around --

“ _Hey!_ ” Captain roars -- a crashing _thud --_

\-- instinct brings Pearl’s arms and knees up around her belly and she curls double as she’s spun -- spilled sideways to the floor, hip and shins banged purple.

“She got her turn!” The citrine from the sparring match cringes on all fours nearby, nursing the blow to her head.  “I get mine too!”

“There aren’t turns, you _fucking_ idiot.” Captain wheels along with others, surrounding the offender. 

But another amethyst steps in beside her, growling at the Captain. “Easy to say when you had yours."

Captain bristles, advancing, and the citrine snarls -- the _amethyst_ snarls -- shoulders flaring low like they’re about to pounce --

 _Training display._ Please, please no. Pearl can feel herself shrinking inward.

“Stop.” Her voice cracks. It’s quiet, but clear, and it cuts through the space and turns every face toward her. The room hangs on a thread and the thread hangs on Pearl.

“You.” She points at the citrine with only a slight shake. “You will sit and be quiet.” 

There’s a shade of a quaver in her voice. Maybe that’s enough to break whatever spell the command has over them, because the citrine sneers. “What?”

“Sit.” Steadier this time. Carefully, she gets to her feet. A jasper steps closer when she stumbles, as though to steady her, but she holds up a hand. When she turns back to the citrine her tone is back. “And be good. And I _may_ play with you later.”

It works. 

She returns to Amethyst who looks _very_ comfortable in her new place on the floor. She’s still lounging in her hang-devil grin, lazily squeezing between her thighs. Pearl’s excitement still coats her face, evidently untouched except for licked lips. Oh, that’s lewd. (Pearl smiles.) Amethyst fairly sings, “What would you like down here, starshine?”

A brow tilts. Pearl saunters closer. “What are you offering?”

Amethyst laughs. She looks a little drunk. “So feisty.” Her eyes trace Pearl’s calves, ankles. The smile dips. “I’m not much for dick. But you like my hands. Yeah?”

Pearl considers. It’s not as though she has to _choose_ ; she can have all of it, all of her, at leisure.

“They’re lovely hands.” She takes one by the wrist. It cooperates when she positions it palm-up on Amethyst’s hips. “Show me how lovely.” 

She makes a cradle of her fingers (so _big)_  and straddles her hand with a sigh.

Oh, a thrill. On top of a body like that. Feels almost like that power is all Pearl’s own as she rolls her hips, slow, enjoying. With her chin tipped back she can see half a dozen of the quartzes in various states of sex, with themselves or others. One has her teeth sunk in the shoulder of a slender onyx with her hand down the front of her uniform, hissing in her ear. A lovely, burly jasper lies on her side touching herself with her knees akimbo. She watches Pearl with eyes so moony and hazy it’s a wonder she can see at all.

Pearl shivers.

The touch is gentle and nice but Amethyst doesn’t _do_ anything with it. The simple strokes are maddening. Pearl needs _pressure._

“In,” she says. Her hips swirl for it. “In me.”

“I’d break you.” It sounds wistful, rueful. Annoyance flashes on Pearl’s face. The amethyst’s fingers are big but certainly not bigger than a pearl’s wrist.

“You wouldn’t believe half the things I’ve fit,” Pearl fires back, though it comes out as a purr. (Someone groans “What the fuuuuck.”) “You will _not_ break me. Now. _In_.”

How could she refuse?

Pearl’s slippery enough that the finger (oh, she loves _just_ before it slips in) has little trouble after some wiggling and swiveling of hips. _Big._ Good, but big. Slipping inside. Oh, yes yes yes. She feels sharp joy bloom on her face and someone sighs at the sight.

She halts Amethyst silently with a hand to her arm and pauses, adjusting. Panting. Amethyst watches closely. Then Pearl lets herself sink a fraction more until she’s hilted, with a quavery little moan that has her chest fluttering. “Ohhh…”

Amethyst’s lost whatever cheek she salvaged earlier. Her look is reverent, singular. “Good?” she whispers.

“Yes,” from Pearl’s mouth like steam. She reaches between them to feel where she’s stretched tight and shivers. “Now curl -- _ah!_ ”

She rides just like that: taking every piece, demanding: harder, pull more, push more: and by the time Pearl comes to another keening climax she will not endure disobedience.

Amethyst tries to slip her finger free and Pearl grips a handful of flesh on her belly, twisting. “ _No._ ”

“But you --”

“Leave it.” She likes the thick flesh inside her. The strength of it. And she lets her hips grind against the shape it makes, just so that’s clear.

A chalcedony has inched further than the others, hoping to go unnoticed. Quartzes at _so bad_ at that. Pearl snaps her chin around and the chalcedony startles.

“You.” Pearl points. “To me.”

She stumbles forward. Guilty but thrilled. (Someone hisses “Aw, fuck.”) When she stops just out of reach, Pearl demands another step in silence.

Her belt is just close enough to snatch at. And Pearl does. When the article does not immediately cooperate, she glares up imperiously, doing her best to loom from waist-level. “Give it to me.” 

The chalcedony (she’s actually very pretty) looks shellshocked and doesn’t move. Someone mutters, “Uh, you fucking better, dude.”

Pearl hisses, “ _Give,”_ and _squeezes_ the swelling in the front of her uniform. The chalcedony _yelps_ and stars above, the sound funnels a bolt of pure electricity through Pearl’s middle.

But she doesn’t refuse. The chalcedony phases off her suit altogether (to a few hoots and yowls) and Pearl does not wait for an offering. She takes the erection and wastes no time wrapping it in her fist (big, big, big) to stroke, making the chalcedony sigh “Oh, fuck.”

Pearl locks eyes with a slack-jawed onyx as she gives the tip a slow, soft lick. (“Oh, _fuck!_ ”)

“You.” Pearl points. The onyx recoils like she’s been struck. “Pick up my skirts.” 

The onyx hurries to obey. She moves with surprising coordination given the look on her face, guilty and dreamy and baffled, and she eagerly returns with the discarded skirts. They look like bits of crepe paper in her hands.

Pearl’s hips rotate against Amethyst’s touch --  a little burst of pleasure distracting her -- until her chin pulls up again. “Have you ever kissed a pearl?”

Of course not. Of course not. The onyx swallows, watching where Pearl is spread wide open, and Pearl barks “Look at _me._ ”

The onyx does. She’s sweating.

“Answer.”

She swallows. “No.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yeah,” she wheezes, looking wary. Looking for a trap in the terrain.

“Kiss my skirt like I’m still wearing it,” Pearl says, hips swiveling again and oh _yes_ , she wants another climax. “Like you want to kiss what’s underneath.” She slides a long, suckling kiss along the chalcedony’s shaft, eyes burning through the onyx’s.  “And touch yourself while you do.”

“I can’t handle this shit,” comes a wheezes. 

“Take this off,” murmurs someone, soft.

The onyx takes great pulls of the skirt, catching the fabric with her tongue. Her eyes haze and cut at Pearl as her hand slips down her uniform, too, stuffing her fingers into herself. Pearl purrs approval and the onyx snags the skirts with her teeth, and that _zings_.

She has _three_ of them on the floor with her like this. The chalcedony’s nails dig bloody into her own thigh with a choked moan when Pearl swallows her in (not as deep as she could, the position’s wrong) and the flesh in her mouth, the flesh pressing into her -- Pearl lets herself make whatever noises she wants, taking it all.

“Gonna come again?” Amethyst whispers, scalding hot. Her hips lift and Pearl gives a little squeak -- her feet and knees leave the ground and the cock slips from her mouth, swiping saliva along her cheek -- and the weightlessness -- “Oh! _Oh --_ ”

She comes, a luxurious, long, winding one, thick and lazy as an atmospheric river, surprising her with its bends and turns of warmth. They wrap silky around the root of her gem, the backs of her eyes. She lets herself enjoy. Lets herself. She sinks forward into Amethyst’s breasts as she does. Just enjoying. Soft. Amethyst has sweated through her uniform here, and there’s traces of Pearl’s earlier ride. It should be repulsive but really, part of her just wants to use it like the onyx.

“You good?” Amethyst is allowed to slip out this time with only a little whimper. Pearl hums; nods. But she doesn’t want to sit long. 

Carefully -- as sensuously as possible -- she slips from Amethyst’s waist, leaving a trail of slick along her uniform. It makes it easier for her to crane her neck at the chalcedony who is still harder than alloy and watching her. _She hasn’t been given an order._

“You,” Pearl says, with less steel this time. “Fuck her while I watch.”

The word is like a carpet bomb, coming from Pearl: the debauchery surrounding them pauses and picks up with renewed scandal and the ring presses closer.

Amethyst is reeling. “Fuck, dude.”

“Yeah?” The chalcedony shifts. But too turned on to be nervous.

“We dare not refuse.” Amethyst runs her tongue over her teeth. 

Pearl struggles upright (the floor is _very_ dirty here) and stands aside as the two of them arrange themselves. They phase out without ceremony and Amethyst cants her hips up (“No foreplay, dude, just fuckin’ --”) and _snarls_ when her comrade thrusts home. Pearl watches their bodies a moment longer. Muscles coiling. Flexing.

The _power_ there.

She licks her lips.

“You.” She points at the jasper that shammed sleep earlier. “Come here. No,” she adds hurriedly, “crawl.”

“What the _fuuuuck,_ ” someone moans. To the right, a beautifully mottled citrine is being bent over and fucked on the open floor to much appreciative moaning. But Pearl has eyes only for the jasper. Her eyes could take a slice out of a moon, gazing at Pearl like that.

But she drops to her knees ( _heavy_ , the _floor_ shakes) leering, shoulders rolling full of sinew. Pearl twitches -- she didn’t know she _could_ twitch there -- watching all that power crawl towards her. All because she said to.

She’s a little light-headed.

“Clean me up,” she whispers, chest swelling and falling. “Don’t leave a drop.”

The jasper needs no encouragement. A hot tongue swipes the delicate inside of knee, laving up a trail of slick, tracing thick and lovely to the soft inner thigh while Pearl stammers on a moan. 

“You,” she points at the cat’s eye from earlier, watching like she’s the last scrap of sustenance in the system. Pearl’s finger crooks. Pulling her in.

And she does. She hesitates, waiting for a command -- to crawl, maybe -- but none arrives from Pearl’s silence. She approaches with her shoulders hunched, though. Hedging her bets.

“Behind me,” Pearl says. Her arms lift. _... undress me._

The cat’s eye hesitates. Her fingers hook beneath the lip of Pearl’s top (Pearl can feel her breath against the top of her head, she’s so _big)_ nails tracing a question. Pearl’s hands close over hers and she pauses. Waiting.

_For a command._

She thinks of the vision of the quartzes that haunted her all the way here. _Vicious. Unbridled. Dangerous._

“T… tear it. Tear it off. ” Pearl licks her lips as someone hisses. She presses back, arching. “Rip it off of me.”

The cat’s eye _growls_ and it passes through Pearl’s chest when she does. It vibrates right through every molecule in her body on the way to her clit where it meets the jasper’s rumbling and Pearl is caught hot in the middle, and as the fabric sneers underneath the cat’s eye's claws the shirt splits open to rasp against her skin and she’s so vulnerable and bare to two score quartzes and _stars,_ part of her just wants them all at the same time: to lie in the thick, roiling pile of them and just feel _hands_ all over -- have them crawl over her, squeeze her, pin-bite-lick-suck-pet-please- _fuck_ her, have them use her up so full and so good she wouldn’t need to give another thing to this damned planet again.

“Touch me,” gasping, breathless, delicate muscle still fluttering pleasure enough to knock the knees from underneath her, “all over, touch -- give me -- _ohh --”_

She would collapse if the jasper didn’t pin her up against the cat’s eye, hands on hips. She’s kissing along her breasts, now, scorching her -- mouth big enough to swallow half her chest altogether, it felt like, scraping with her tongue _deliciously_ \-- Pearl’s arms reach behind her for the cat’s eye --

Her hands want to be everywhere: the shoulder before her, the shoulder behind, tugging on the headsful of lux hair perfect for pulling. She wants to feel the hands curled around the slight give of her chest, the careful scrape of nails against the skin. Wants to grope the full breasts (they’re so _soft)_ pressed against her own -- all of it -- she wants it all, right _now._ What an injustice she can’t. 

“F-fuck me,” she breathes, remembering the effect the word seemed to have, “-- _fuck_ me --”

The two quartzes _hiss_ in low unison and go rigid at the order. They press together like a vice.

“ _Fuck me,_ ” Pearl gasps, again, wriggling -- it feels good to be squeezed between them --  “use anything, just -- just _fuck_ me --”

Hips shift against her but nothing comes, and Pearl whimpers; she’s _aching._

Her thighs are hitched up around the jasper’s thick waist -- she can barely link them at the ankles -- the cat’s eye supporting Pearl’s back and panting against her neck, grinding as the jasper presses her cock -- thick and firm against her, along her, but nowhere near entering -- sliding against the slick lips and sending a rattling corona of color up her midline like an electric bolt. Enormous. Pearl can’t see but she can feel it’s _enormous,_ absolutely grossly excessive, she cannot bear to wait. 

 _It’ll never fit,_ Pearl’s mind trills, carouseling chemical panic. _Never never!_ The impossible feel of it, pressing in-line with where it might fill her inside ( _it’ll never fit!_ ) gives the contact an extra fulsomeness, and Pearl’s foot kicks with a hot nerve, ( _but what if it did?),_ stars, almost giddy.

The giddiness _\--_ and pressed between the two of them -- it’s like gravity itself has lost its sway on Pearl. She is weightless. _Nothing_ has a hold upon her.

Her palm whips out ( _crack!)_ against the Jasper’s cheek and she hisses, “ _Fuck me!”_

Jasper’s head snaps the barest millimeter but she still snarls against the blow out of instinct: roaring breath like a boiler room, eyes slicing gold, fangs long as thumbs flashing an inch from Pearl’s face -- 

\-- and Pearl snarls right back, just as vicious, though not as loud, with her tiny wrinkled nose and her flat little teeth. And then she’s eaten up in a kiss nothing short of molten.

Just as (oh _stars_ , Pearl’s sight goes white) -- she presses _in_ \-- the stretch is delectable, it’s -- it’s fucking _indecent --_ mouth falls open and wordless --  her body flexes waxy with the size of it, and the _heat,_ the jasper’s skin is _hot --_ but Pearl takes her in -- she takes -- Pearl’s eyes list hazy with a wave of hard delight and her mouth goes shapeless in the kiss -- and she _takes it_ \--

Flashes between the white: jasper and cat’s eye kissing _filthy_ over her shoulder, lips and teeth; pleasure riddling her to her fingertips; her rounded little nails scraping _flesh_ and a roar and she’s coming, _hard,_ again -- snapping tight with wonderful lightness and heat...

Her head clears in moments and the jasper is still working a delicious rhythm into her, filling and filling, Pearl moaning -- she wiggles her hips, making room -- more -- swiveling against the thrust, side to side (so _full_ ), and the angle hits and she tears skin when she swipes her nails down thick shoulders and the _roar --_

She loses count. Of each body, each heated kiss, every mouth pressed up against her so solid and giving and taking. Cradled in a lap and played like an instrument, and writhing between generous thighs, and standing over two of them as they kissed, and bent over a thick waist while someone suckled on her tongue -- while a body moved behind her -  Pearl could feel the flex and stretch of abdominal muscle along her back as she came, again, maybe another, voice raw, voice hoarse…

  
  
  
  
  


… she fell asleep again. She sighs quietly, turning, but can’t move well. A little panic nibbles as she pauses to assess. But she’s simply covered in a blanket: one too tight, tucked in the corners.  

She grumbles, kicking. It’s too hot for a blanket.

“Oh, hey. Hi again.” 

Pearl startles when the bed beneath her dips. It’s the Amethyst. She grins to her molars, the way that Pearl likes. “Doing good?”

Pearl hesitates. “Too hot,” she says.

“Sorry, yeah.” Amethyst untucks the blanket (it must be her cubby, not the Captain’s bunk; Pearl can hear others out on the floor) but otherwise doesn’t move to arrange it.

Ah, Pearl realizes. She’s still naked underneath. But she kicks it enough that she isn’t boiling.

“I fell asleep?” she asks, before she can stop herself. Dumb question. 

But Amethyst doesn’t mind. Still smiling. “Yeah, you got a workout. You sore?”

Pearl thinks. And nods. “But it’s nice.”

“Fun sore, right?”

Pearl makes a little affirming noise, glancing out towards the open floor. She thinks she might like to go back to sleep.

“Is she up?” someone calls from out of eyeline.

“Fuck off,” Amethyst answers, with cheerful venom. 

“Hey fuck you! I get to cuddle her, too.”

“She doesn’t like cuddling.” That one’s Captain.

“Whaaat…” Grumbling, complaints.

“What, you want to take it up with Sarge?” Amethyst fires back. But she doesn’t leave the cot. 

Someone laughs. It’s the citrine. “Yeah, bitch and moan like that to Sarge, I dare you.”

Do they mean the captain? Pearl rubs her temples. They’re so _noisy._ She takes a moment to rub her eyes. “Could I have a little quiet?”

“Hey, you heard her.” Amethyst straightens up from the cot. “Piss off.”

“That means you too, asshole.”

“I wanna say hi at least…”

“We can’t come up for like, a second?”

Captain booms. “You fuckers find some other way to occupy yourselves. Sarge is in charge.”

“Sarge in _charge,”_ someone crows in echo.

Pearl pauses, mid-eye scrub. Wait. Her hand claps on the bed as she pushes herself upright, asking Amethyst’s sturdy back, “ _‘_ Sarge _’_?”

Amethyst turns at the door, still grinning. “Yeah. Captain says you’re not due to your agate for awhile. You need anything?” Apparently unaware that there’s a question.

She blinks. Sighs. And shakes her head slowly.

“Got it.” As Amethyst turns to leave, she pauses, remembering. “Oh, yeah, and uh… lot of us asking… when do you think you’ll be back?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that trope where someone is emptying out all their weapons and it's like an excessive amount of weapons and they just keep coming and find more and more weapons even though it doesn't make physical sense for them to HAVE more weapons and they never seem to stop? Sarge is like that, but with pearlfriends (and now quartzes i guess)
> 
> Amethyst w the nice smile eventually becomes "Cheek" in her mind (she has a TYPE)
> 
> Only during my hasty edit of this did I realize she literally t-poses to keep the quartzes at bay, holy shit
> 
> (For some reason AO3 wants the chapter 1 notes at the bottom too???? go off i guess)

**Author's Note:**

> Distribution is like gem parole, get in there too often and you get Noticed
> 
> Gem genitals???? pearlsex "not counting"???? Idk man I just work here
> 
> Personal headcanon that some gems have discreet (and discrete) nicknames for each other. Gems like pearls less likely to be in big groups at the same time might have unique names for one another, while bigger groups like quartzes have one that sticks.
> 
> Buckle up for the whole gang next chapter


End file.
